Paperwork
by Bellantara
Summary: There's no escaping it. . .and if you don't keep up with it, it WILL find you. As Sven learns.


Sven eased into his desk chair with a hiss of pain for his aching chest and back. He knew he should be in bed, knew he would get an earful from the doctor AND Romelle when they found out, but . . . he just couldn't stay there anymore. He'd had a lifetime's worth of bedrest on Ebb, and had absolutely no patience left for being idle. Careful not to open anything that would alert Romelle or Bandor, he pulled his datapad over and started reading the congratulatory notes from his teammates and the _Explorer_ crew on his and Romelle's recently announced engagement.

A knock on the door pulled him from Cliff's most likely over-exaggerated account of his latest conquest, and he made his slow way to answer it, feeling more 80 than 26. To his surprise, the door opened to a stack of paper on legs. "Commander Sven Holgersson? Lieutenant j.g. Miles Waterman, Garrison Personnel Command. I've brought your paperwork, sir." The apparent Lt. Waterman pushed past him without waiting for a response, separating at his desk into the stack and a scrawny, short, pasty man in oversized glasses that would put Pidge to shame for sheer geeky awkwardness.

Sven finally managed to stop staring and get his mind and voice working again. " _Vhat_ papervork? Und how did you get in here, anyvay?" Mentally he composed extra duty lists for the members of the day watch that not only let this . . . lieutenant . . . into the Polluxian Castle unescorted, but also failed to notify Sven of his presence.

Waterman blinked at him. "Your marriage paperwork, sir. Surely you didn't think you could get married without going through proper channels? And you should have expected someone from PersCom; I suspect your people thought I WAS expected; they certainly didn't ask questions when I said I was here to see you."

Sven added to the extra duty list, then blinked as Waterman's words registered. " _All that chust to get married?_ Vhy?"

"Oh, no, Commander! This is just the basic set—Form 2540, "Application for Marriage"; Form 183, "Application for Permission to Marry Extraterrestrial Civilian"; Form 95B, "Affidavit of Extraterrestrial Compatibility", and Form 460, "Application for Cost of Living Adjustment due to Marriage"- in triplicate, so it looks like more than it actually is, plus there's the medical paperwork you failed to complete when you were injured in the line of duty two years ago."

The Norwegian groped for his chair, knees weak. "Vhat do you mean, medical papervork? Und vhy could all dis not be sent electronically?"

Waterman shrugged. "Form 18, "Application for Medical Leave"; Form 22B, "Request for Approval for Treatment at Civilian Medical Facility"; Form 46, "Request for Retirement on Medical Grounds"; Form 47J, "Application for Permanent Disability Pension." They WERE sent electronically, sir. Over six months ago. We never got a response from you, so it was decided to send hard copies via courier; since you haven't completed them, you're still considered an active duty Garrison officer, so the marriage documents are necessary as well."

Sven did the math in his head, then stared at the man, incredulous. "Six months ago I VAS ON DOOM! How in de All-Fater's name vas I supposed to get dis papervork of yours?"

The lieutenant pushed his glasses up. "Being posted to a hazardous duty station doesn't relieve you of your obligations to the Garrison, Commander. You still should have been checking in and reporting on a regular basis."

"Posted to a . . ." Sven was starting to regret sneaking out of MedTech, and not just because his back was starting to spasm. "Never mind," he sighed, trying to shift to a more comfortable position and failing. "Chust leaf dem here, I vill get dem filled out and sent back."

"I'm sorry, sir; it has to be done now; I can't leave without them. Orders, you know." The little paper pusher actually managed to look sympathetic.

"Consider those orders countered." Romelle walked into the room, shooting Sven a _yes, you're SO in trouble_ glare. "If you'll check with your superiors, you'll find that Commander Holgersson is exempt from Garrison regulations; King Bandor had him transferred to the Polluxian High Command a month ago. I filed Form 3999 personally, in triplicate." She stopped behind Sven, running a gentle hand over the still-healing wound in his back. "Now, if you will excuse us? I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing, but we have other business demanding our attention." She watched impassively as Waterman apologized and scurried out of the room, leaving his papers behind.

" _Elskede,_ " Sven sighed, putting his head against the back of his chair and closing his eyes. "I do not tink I haf ever been so glad to see you."

"I'll shout at you for sneaking out later," she answered, gently kissing the pain lines in his forehead. "Let's get you in bed, Viking. Dr. Rhamines is coming to make sure you didn't do any damage, stubborn man, and he's bringing your meds."

Twenty minutes later, Sven was tucked comfortably into his bed, asleep under a good dose of narcotics. Romelle watched him fondly as, across the room, she started a fire with the Garrison paperwork.


End file.
